


Last Stand

by geckoholic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Multi, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Clint knows he's screwed.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Last Stand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elysiumwaits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elysiumwaits/gifts).



> You had SUCH GREAT PROMPTS. I basically had to draw straws, and I might write the runner up too, at some point, taking a little more time with it. ;) Maybe. We shall see. 
> 
> Not beta-read, so all remaining mistakes are most definitely mine.
> 
> Title is from "Last Stand" by Adelita's Way.

Clint knows he's screwed. He knew since he sent his taxi from the train station to the hotel on a few useless detours and still kept seeing a nice, inconspicuous blue Volvo pop up in his periphery. A civilian likely wouldn't even have spotted it, but Clint isn't a civilian. He hasn't been in a very long time, so to him, they might as well have followed him directly with sirens blaring. Except that'd been his part in this little game – the sirens, the flimsy excuse of working on the right side of this war. And it _is_ a war, one with wins and losses and its fair share of casualties. The ranks of which Clint will join in the foreseeable future, if he doesn't find a way out of this dilemma, and fast. 

They let him check into his room in the hotel, but that's a strategic decision rather than a fluke. A quick assassination in a hotel room is much more low-key than, say, a car chase or shooting up the hotel lobby. They have him cornered on unfamiliar territory. He's seen the blueprints of the hotel beforehand, of course, but there's a difference between that and familiarizing himself with the exit routes on site. 

He sighs, drops his suitcase on an armchair by the door and flops onto the old-fashioned four-poster-bed face first. The pillows are really comfy, at least. Pity about the linen, though; getting blood and brains out of that kind of fabric is nigh impossible. 

The doorknob clicks, even though Clint is supposed to having been handed the only key, a security measure that most hotels only very reluctantly accept, but that Clint always insists on and pays a generous extra security deposit for. No matter how this goes, if he gets out of here alive, he can at least wave that wad of cash goodbye. 

Two people clad in everyday office wear, as inconspicuous as the damn Volvo, enter the room, and Clint turns his head, grinning at them. They're both quite easy on the eyes, honestly, the guy's got beautiful piercing eyes and he's sporting a man bun that somehow suits him very well, and the woman is about a head and a half shorter than him, he red curls only haphazardly gathered together into a loose ponytail. 

Clint tsks, shaking his head. “You could have at least knocked. What if I'd just came out of the shower? So rude.” 

The two look at each other, a whole silent conversation that Clint isn't privy to but can guess the contents of going on before his eyes, and then they start for the bed at the same time. Clint sits up, reaching for his gun, cursing the fact that he didn't have enough time to unpack his bow. He doesn't fire a single shot, anyway; the ensuing fight is a quick affair, and the only use he gets out of the weapon is using it to knock the guy up the head. But they're both good, really good fighters, and Clint is not bad at hand-to-hand, per se, but it's not his primary skill set. Usually, his strategy is to _avoid_ confrontations like these and settle things from a distance. 

Minutes later, he's on the floor in front of the bed, with the woman kneeling in front of him while the guy's holding him down with a knee planted onto his lower back. She's smiling, something small and intimate and openly triumphant, and she reaches out to stroke the backs of her bent fingers down his cheek. 

“Got you,” she says, in English, her voice tinged with the faintest Russian accent; the leftovers of a native speaker having been trained out of having any accent at all. “You belong to us now, and we _will_ make you talk.” 

That's when she nods at the guy, who mumbles something in Russian that Clint can't fully decipher and then knocks Clint clean out.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [dreamwidth](https://geckoholic.dreamwidth.org/), [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Second Chance (at a Last Stand)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100418) by [kiss_me_cassie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie)




End file.
